as if to measure his
words. "I fill you with aversion," he exclaimed.

She started up, half-sobbing. "No--oh, no!"

"Poor child--you can't see your face!"

She lifted her hands as if to hide it, and turning away from him bowed
her head upon the mantel-shelf. She felt that he was standing a little
way behind her, but he made no attempt to touch her or come nearer.

"I know you've felt as I've felt," he said in a low voice--"that we
belong to each other and that nothing can alter that. But other thoughts
come, and you can't banish them. Whenever you see me you remember...you
associate me with things you abhor...You've been generous--immeasurably.
You've given me all the chances a woman could; but if it's only made you
suffer, what's the use?"

She turned to him with a tear-stained face. "It hasn't only done that."

"Oh, no! I know...There've been moments..." He took her hand and raised
it to his lips. "They'll be with me as long as I live. But I can't see
you paying such a price for them. I'm not worth what I'm costing you."

She continued to gaze at him through tear-dilated eyes; and suddenly
she flung out the question: "Wasn't it the Athenee you took her to that
evening?"

"Anna--Anna!"

"Yes; I want to know now: to know everything. Perhaps that will make
me forget. I ought to have made you tell me before. Wherever we go, I
imagine you've been there with her...I see you together. I want to know
how it began, where you went, why you left her...I can't go on in this
darkness any longer!"

She did not know what had prompted her passionate outburst, but already
she felt lighter, freer, as if at last the evil spell were broken. "I
want to know everything," she repeated. "It's the only way to make me
forget."

After she had ceased speaking Darrow remained where he was, his arms
folded, his eyes lowered, immovable. She waited, her gaze on his face.

"Aren't you going to tell me?"

"No." The blood rushed to her temples. "You won't? Why not?"

"If I did, do you suppose you'd forget THAT?"

"Oh--" she moaned, and turned away from him.

"You see it's impossible," he went on. "I've done a thing I loathe,
and to atone for it you ask me to do another. What sort of satisfaction
would that give you? It would put something irremediable between us."

She leaned her elbow against the mantel-shelf and hid her face in her
hands. She had the sense that she was vainly throwing away her last hope
of happiness, yet she coul